The Red Walls

“Hey young man”, a grey haired gentleman called me and asked for my name. We shook hands and introduced ourselves. His name was Andrea.

A red wall with a huge gate guarding God-knows-what stood by the hustling streets of N.S.C. Bose Road, the Tollygunge – Garia connector. I have crossed that gate several times during my Grads and years after that. There are many discarded factory lands in the area, up for real estate developers to acquire and start selling expensive dreams to the common man sooner or later. The gate and the red wall seemed to be guarding one of such unused pieces of soon-to-be demolished properties. Little did I know that one day I would actually enter that gate and it would change my outlook towards life forever.

“So, you’ve been doing this out of passion?” he asked. I nodded in affirmation. My mother volunteered at the Rotary Club of Calcutta South Central for few years. I was always intruiged by Rotary’s work and wished to be a part of the foundation. In 2017, I was pinned as a Rotarian in the same club. To say I love travelling, would be misguiding! I would rather rephrase it as – I like gathering knowledge by putting myself in someone else’s shoes to see what they see which I can’t, otherwise. This time, I was standing in the middle of a huge dinner hall with young volunteers from our Rotaract club and a bunch of old faces stained with time. The red wall and the gate were guarding an old-age home all this while, and I was shocked that I never knew until that day. Andrea continued his conversation with me about how our organisation works and how it helps the less priviledged. All of a sudden I sensed, he was asking too much about monetary involvements and cash donations. It struck a very wrong chord in my mind and I was confused. “Why is he talking about money? Does he need money? But why would he? He looks pretty much like a gentleman to ask like that”. My mind was full of questions which I was too embarrased to ask Andrea.

Snap!! There was a noise and I turned around. An old man with only a few teeth remaining smiled his heart out and asked, “could you hear that sound? I just blew up this paper bag. Oh, well I’m still trying to hear the sound. I don’t really hear things. Something’s wrong with my ears you see”, and he kept smiling. I didn’t know what to say but I smiled back. There were women and men, playing indoor games with our Rotaract youngsters with utmost dignity and fun. The only thing I kept asking myself was how could kids be so selfish to put their parents away. I couldn’t find an answer. All I knew was I could never imagine doing this to my mother. These people were so sweet, innocent and few of them even shared their wisdom.

Suddenly Andrea called again. The doubtful thoughts came back to me but I managed a smile and went to his seat. He pointed to a very old man who was hardly in a condition to either stand or sit properly. Andrea said, “could you ask your organisation to arrange for some money? My friend over there needs a cataract done badly. He doesn’t have anyone to help him financially. Even if you could arrange for the surgery, then you don’t need to deal with the cash”. I remained silent. I realised why he kept talking about money earlier. He was trying to figure out if we were the right people to ask for help. I felt I have also become a part of the selfish community; selfish enough to judge the book by its cover, to label someone without knowing the true intentions. I smiled back and said, “our club president is here, I’ll just ask her to have a word with you regarding this”.

I was just getting over with the self analysis by putting our ‘community service’ as a consolation to balance out the demeaning thoughts I wrongly had about someone I didn’t even know properly. I went outside to check my cellphone. It didn’t have missed calls, but my surrounding had people with missed opportunities, missed relationships and missed lives. It was empty all around. The campus was well maintained. I could catch glimpses of few elderly sitting together in benches under the sky, staring at the still water of the pond. There was nothing, yet their eyes were full. I thought how shameful it is to have old-age homes where selfish kids leave their parents to die. But wait, it was too soon to leap to conclusions.

Moments later I entered the dinner hall again to check on the young Rotaracts. A lady came up to me and started thanking for our efforts of bringing the daily food essentials for them. With utmost humility I told her how happy we were to have been able to do it. She smiled and said, “My son would have been like you, had he been alive.” I was taken aback! “I don’t understand”, I said. She moved to the home with her husband after their son passed away in an accident. They had the house to themselves with empty rooms and silence. They couldn’t take it anymore and decided to sell off the place to find friends with whom they could share the remaining life. “My husband died last year. Now I’m waiting for my time, but its good to be here”, she added.

My assumptions broke me into pieces. I could only gather enough courage to bend my lips into a smiling pose while inside I really couldn’t understand what to say or how to react. It seemed, we’ve got it wrong, right from the beginning. People do lose kids, people do look for company, and at times you can’t really help it. Old-age homes are not places where only selfish kids leave their parents to die. These places are often outstanding examples of friendship that last till the last breath; of hopes that someday someone will share bits of happiness and with tons of wisdom, if there was truly an unit to measure it.

I walked out of the dinner hall with memories of elderly women kissing my forehead and blessing me; of the 96 years old Mr. Tom Warden (last as I remember his name) who sang a really great country song of his times with full confidence and cheered the young crowd to applaud him back; of several other couples who found love after they lost love in their lives. I looked at the red buildings which were once British officers quarters now home to these wonderful people, the pond and Jesus’ cross. I walked past the red walls and took a long walk back alone. I gained wisdom.